


Scheherazade

by Deirdreh



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, F/M, Metaphors, mentions of Loki-Norse Mythology (bc the author is going through a phase)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 22:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16689727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deirdreh/pseuds/Deirdreh
Summary: “Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.”





	Scheherazade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miehczyslaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miehczyslaw/gifts).



 

 _So, yes_  
_once and for all come here_  
_And kill me,_  
_drag me, rip me, devour me, consume me._  
_Do not leave anything,_  
_Don’t you dare._

_Please._

**.**

The problem is that he borns alone.

And like every lonely vermin he is haunted by a vicious hunger, insatiable, able to devour the whole world in just one bit, like a serpent, and even so still be hungry. But unless the food has a beating-warm heart in her chest, unless she is willing to devour him back, with her chainsaw teeth, her sharp tongue as needle and her wet empty eyes; he repudiates the food. Otherwise it makes him sick, causes him a nauseous feeling revolving his guts.

The problem is that he has born alone and loneliness is his shadow.

**.**

All the creatures of this world are born starved. And all the miserable vermin of this world are born alone.

That is what he know, that’s what he has learned so far.  
That’s the only certainty he has; soil for him to stand, to hold, to grow.  
That’s his lullaby, his only comfort, his favorite candy –and it’s sour–.  
That’s his legacy, for the day that his dreams finally trap him, his will; an horror prank and tale without punchline.

**.**

He has grown alone.

Solitude is his mother. Solitude like a home, a haven, a wicked hole in his mind. Solitude like a father figure, on which he forges himself. Solitude like a friend, imaginary and ecumenical. Solitude that in time to time she crawls up his spine and traces his face with her teeth. Solitude like a equal, an abyss, a mirror and his own reflection.

He ask himself; “ _Will I be able to dominate her, or, will she be able to consume before?_ ”

Nevertheless there’s no trepidation in this, not even death itself, will be able to separate them. “ _I cannot shake you off of my bones. And you have no intention of leaving me behind.”_

**.**

He grows in a room of four walls; one in the name of the Father, the son, a bastard and other one in her name. Every one of them is pristine-white and everyone has a window to frame the absence.

He grows up watching the four walls, wanting to ruin them with his own hands.

**.**

(And suddenly,)

“ _Hey_.” says Rize, no last-name, a beautiful angel as cruelty.

(everything changes.)

A word, a nice gesture, a show of compassion freely given, a candy too sweet to not dream with ripping its life and make it his, a selfless action. That is all that is needed to ruin a heart, to wrap it in a spiderweb and have it just there forever.

Rize no last-name introduces herself, as if nobody in the Garden knew each other’s faces, no-names, sins and sickness, as if that place were not a cesspool of God’s forsaken child, as if that place were not their only home. Nevertheless Furuta does not say anything, her smile has him paralyzed –for the horror and for something more that he isn’t sure he can call by its name.

“Do you want to be my friend?” and that sound like a command, a condemnation, like something that never was given to him and he didn’t know he needed it so much.

A vulgar show of compassion, a caress, a love, small and fragile, is all that is needed to not want to love the solitude anymore. Bad move, my friend.

  
He doesn’t remember accepting her offer, in fact, he doesn’t remember saying a word.

Nevertheless he remembers Rize sitting at his side, with her barely touching his, being so close to each other that he still feels every affected cell burn.  
And then, as if they have known each other all their life and this was their everyday routine in which they let themselves fall. Rize pulls a book out of her arms, opens it and reads out loud, as if it were the most coherent thing in the world, as if the word coherence doesn’t sound as the most insane madness.

**.**

Rize does that thing all the time; pulling books out of a parallel dimension placed between her arms and ribs, Furuta wants to call her a witch –but she’s already a demon–. Acting with such a normality, a commonness, a- familiarity that feels out of place, it puzzles him, makes Furuta want ti call her friend –but they already are more than friends, and the warning sign immolated themselves.

Furuta repudiates all of that; tales, occultism, ficción, _fantasy_. Furuta disgust it, he disgust _her_.

(Only that no longer.  
Everything that was needed for changing that was Rize reading about a misfortune bad boy meeting a starved beautiful girl.)

“Once upon a time there was a God of chaos, born between the fire and the ice, left to die newborn, hated equally by the Gods and the Demons too. He didn’t really have reason to live but choose life anyways.  
Wanna know why?~”

“Not really.” lies! Furuta doesn’t want to hear more of Rize’s tales but he wants to keep listening to her voice.

“Because he wanted to _fuck_ them all. Because he wanted to be the man that laughs last. Because he _could_ , because he _wanted_ , because… _just because_.”

And for a moment Rize’s voice turns sour, saturated in pure rage that was caged, a sentiment that was urged, was forced, to be restrained, put in a bottle and left behind. And for a moment Rize’s eyes look at him with such an intensity, almost devilish, Furuta can’t do other thing than feel like a vermin without limbs about to be eaten alive for another bigger and constrictor vermin. And for a moment he just wants to laugh and Be devoured.

Rize breaks in a maniacal laugh, her laugher echoes in that empty cage that is the Garden, her laugh injects directly in his veins, her laughter that is poison makes his brain cells metamorphose, and Furuta breaks into maniacal laugh with her.

**.**

The problem is that the world keeps spinning relentlessly. And the pass of the time seems cruel, like an scalpel that carves each one of the world’s living creatures; it deforms them, it transforms them, it shapes them to its liking –only that time does not have a liking.  
It’s an intrinsic quality that of the vermin to turn twisted and wicked, cruel, with the pass of the time.

And the days dancing in the garden, the days reading horror tales snuggled together against a cold wall, the days listening fantasy stories lying together in the abyss’ border, the days that pass in such an implausible way and are spent with such a lightness that it doesn’t seem real, like quicksand. The days that will be erased due to the cruelty of the memory. The one thousand and one nights that are nothing against the cruelty.

All those pretty dreams that must end somewhere, with a lover writhing in the dark and the other running of the love.

**.**

Furuta is alone, he was born in solitude, he has grown lonely.

“ _I told you that I wouldn’t leave you behind._ ” Loneliness whispers in his ear, like a mother, like a friend, the love of his live, shqe sounds comforting. She always does.

Furuta is lonely and he hates it. He hates her. But above all he hates Rize.

**.**

“ _Sinister delirium to love a shadow._ ***** ” says Rize out of nowhere and with that little tone so hers– so cryptic, it makes him think if she really wants to be understood “Don’t you think, Nimura?”

“I guess so…”

Furuta tries to laugh but Rize’s eyes haunt him.

And Furuta fears, fears with a instinctive fear, and desperately he longes for his fear to come true. His dream is that his worst fear comes true.

Rize knows exactly what he thinks, he is a vermin in a fishbowl and Rize is the human that keeps him captive to study him, to watch him. He is one of her books that she wants to open up and read, he’s just an story born for her entertainment.

“Did you knew that the God of Chaos is also the God of Stories?” _and the lies, and mischief and bad luck._ He wants to add but he doesn’t. Rize wants something, Furuta knows that for that shine in her eyes, that twisted smile of hers.

And so she tells a tale and he listens, the night is young and full of terrors, the heat threats them with melt them and from outside comes the smell of a storm coming.

.

Fiction still seems to him preposterous and humdrum. Stories are all so predictable and so fake, all of them so starved to death and so gluttons. And their son presumptuous lectors that just dream with being devoured, swallowed, digested and transcribed. Like they were real.

Because the only thing that stories do, is to chew up the people and spit them in the world.

Because all the stories start more or les like this:

Once upon a time there was a boy steading in the middle of the world, and the world watched him, and the boy was an imbecile. Until he met a ravenous girl, she was so thin and she had two dreamy eyes. The boy didn’t notice she wanted him for what he was inside –meat, stories, lies, innocence–. The fool wanted to be devour, because he had no friends except his shadow.

But Furuta dislikes repeated chapter.

So he turn this boring romantic horror novel into a tragic crime story. Oh the sound the pretty girl did when her spine was crushed by the beams he threw. It was like music to him, like a song for his funeral, just an insect being smashed by a clown.

**.**

_**T** his_ time is him the one that has an story to tell.

“Do you remember that story of the God of Chaos?” Of course she does, she was the one who had told him about him and she always seems to have more stories about him to tell. Nevertheless Rize does not say anything, she looks at him with those eyes of her and just listens.

It’s the last evening they have to spend together, at least for a long time it will be, thinks Furuta. They’re in the Garden watching the sunset and Rize has decided to use him as a divan to lie herself there, though he doesn’t find it objectionable.

“He did laugh last.” he says.

Rize raise an eyebrow and twist her lips as if she would refute what he said. But Furuta does not let her say a word, if this are their last moments together so he wants to own them, he wants to make her his.

“It’s hilarious! The guy owns this enormous serpent that can devour the world and those preposterous Gods and all their pathetic inventions. And everything succumbs to the most pure chaos and the most feral destruction, and everyone gets what they deserved. And the God of Mischief! He laughs and laughs forever and his laughs can be hear for the eternity.

And so Furuta keeps telling his little tale.

Low like dangerous secret being whispered and lower almost existing, he does not listen to her anymore “ _Are you sure about that?_ ”

My, my. He just turned in the tale-teller.

**.**

The problem is that loneliness can’t be his friend. A cursed maybe, a known evil, but never someone able to love him back. Nevertheless Furuta cannot do nothing but to worship her like the pagan Goddess she is.

‘ _Nec possum tecum vivere, nec sine te_.’

The problem is what unites them, Rize and him, is that they both are vermin that have chosen to die of hypothermia before being hurt by the spines of the other.

**.  
.**

The problem is that they were born alone and alone they die.

**.  
.**

Long time ago, a forgotten memory of a lost night. Rize wakes him of the dream and gets into his bed, she steals his bedsheets and use him as a pillow, and when she is comfortable she looks into his eyes.

She says:

“ _Tell me about the dream–_  
_Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us_  
.  
Tell me we’ll never get used to it.” *****

 

**Author's Note:**

> *1 Alejandra Pizarnik from Exile.  
> *2 “I cannot live with you nor without you.”  
> *3 Richard Silken from Scheherazade.
> 
> n.a: This is a translation of the original one that is posted in my ff.net account.  
> And, of course, it still belongs to my dear Cassie. You are my favorite puddin and thanks for the beautiful rvw in the original version.


End file.
